The Five Times John Needed Sherlock And The One Ti
by NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: A collection of short drabbles. Kind of... explains itself really :3


_Fairly self explanatory from the title. Just a bit of fun~_

_Disclaimer. I own nothing. Sad times_

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**1 – Nightmare**

John Watson was tough, a lot tougher than people expected when they first saw him. He was a soldier, strong and composed all the time. No exceptions. Except one. Nightmares.  
It was winter; nights were darker and longer, a couple months after he'd moved in with Sherlock, November time. He lay in the suffocating darkness, the nightmare waking him from his sleep.

There were tears on his cheeks, and he hastily wiped them away. He'd cried out and woken, the blankets so tight around him he could barely breathe. Sleep eluded him again, and he slipped out of bed. He padded quietly downstairs and into the kitchen, for comfort more than anything. He'd barely been in there five minutes when he felt eyes on him.

"Did I wake you? Jesus Christ I'm sorry." He hung his head in shame. His flatmate said nothing, simply came and stood behind him, wrapping him in his arms. John let himself be weak, just this once let Sherlock see what the nightmares did. The arms around him were strong and comforting, and John didn't move from them for a long time. He went back to bed after a while and slept soundly. Neither he nor Sherlock mentioned the incident again.

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**2 – Bad day at work**

John was tired. Tired and irritable. He slunk into 221b, not quite daring to make noise in case Sherlock was doing something. He was trembling though; sometimes he hated being a doctor. Right now he hated it more than anything. He made it to the kitchen and collapsed on the sink, propping himself up on his elbows.

The image was burned into the back of his mind, the girl he'd treated before leaving the surgery. His last patient. She was twelve. He'd seen her walk in and his heart had stopped. There were scars littered over her arms, bruising beneath her eyes. He bit back a soft cry as he thought about her.

There was nothing he could do but recommend therapy. She'd been abused and was suicidal. At age fucking twelve. He had just dropped his head to stare at the floor when a familiar arm secured itself around his waist. He felt his back press against Sherlock's chest and let out a shaky breath.

"How old?" The familiar baritone voice drawled softly.

"Twelve." He responded as equally softly. "Fucking twelve." Sherlock said no more, but wrapped John fully in his arms and pressed soft kisses to the top of John's head. John sighed and slowly relaxed, his shoulders losing all tension. He turned and buried his face in Sherlock's neck, letting out a shaky breath. They stood like that for a long time, nothing but the sound of their breath in the room.

"I'm sorry." John whispered finally. Sherlock shook his head and stroked his back.

"Don't be." He murmured softly.

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**3 – Accident on a case**

Pain. Everywhere. John woke and let out a soft whimper, the wrenching ache in his shoulder almost unbearable and the rhythmic pain in his ribs making it worse.

"Sh-Sherlock." He let out a soft whimper, his body crying out at the movement. He needed him. A hand rested lightly on his own and he turned to look. Sherlock was sat beside him, pale and drawn.

"John." His voice is quiet and John looked at him, pain evident in his eyes.

"I need you." John whimpered, the mere movement of breathing in and out difficult. Sherlock nodded and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed softly.

"I'm here." John nodded once, his eyes closing.

"Don't go." His voice has an edge of pleading.

"Never." Came Sherlock's soft response.

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**4 – Harry**

John paced. _Step step turn, step step turn, step step turn..._ It was keeping his mind busy. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him as he paced, but he couldn't bring himself to care what havoc it was playing with his flatmate. He didn't really know why Sherlock was here, really. _Step step turn, step step turn._

"John." Step step turn, step step turn. "John?" Sherlock was getting uncertain. On any other day that would be a one up. Not today. "John look at me." Step step turn, step step turn. "John?" He saw Sherlock move in his peripheral vision, and he turned to look. Sherlock was stood in front of him, that great wool coat in front of his face. "Sit down, John." John turned to begin pacing again, but strong arms wrapped around his waist and he closed his eyes, his body sinking against the coat. He let Sherlock lead him to the uncomfortable plastic seats. He drew in a shuddering breath.

"She's my sister, Sherlock." He whimpered.

"She's going to be okay." Sherlock murmured softly, stroking his hair.

"It was a car accident Sherlock! What if she isn't?"

"She will be fine. It will definitely teach her not to drink and drive, and hopefully cure her alcoholism." John sank back against him, resting his head on his chest.

"I'm scared." he whispered, mostly to himself. Sherlock tightened his grip on him and rocked him gently.

"I'm here." The coat was warm and comforting, and he leaned into the touch, his strength evaporating.

"I need her, Sherlock. She's my sister." Sherlock nodded and carefully stroked his hair, warm fingertips soothing him.

"I'm right here, John. But she'll be okay, I promise." John nodded and pressed his face into Sherlock's neck, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent, shaky breaths in and out of his chest.

"Thank you for being here." Sherlock absent-mindedly took his hand.

"Where else would I be when you needed me?"

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**5 – When Sherlock returns**

John woke up from tangled nightmares of falling and gunshots, trembling all over. He cursed inwardly as the shape on the bed moved, waking up instantly at his cry.

"John?" He shook his head and sat up, wrapping the duvet around his shoulders, shaking. It had been two months since Sherlock had come back, since his world had once more been turned upside down. There was a hand on his back, a silent _'I'm here'_. John felt an irrational stab of anger.

"You weren't here when I needed you before." He murmured steadily, fists clenching the bedcovers.

"I know. I'm sorry." John blinked.

"You're sorry?" Sherlock nodded steadily, holding his gaze.

"For everything I did to you while I wasn't here." John nodded and tugged the duvet round his shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, before leaning heavily against Sherlock, closing his eyes.

"I missed you so much." He lets out a soft huff of breath and breathes in his scent.

"I only came back for you." Sherlock rumbles out and tightens his grip around John. "I missed you. I needed you." John gives a quiet sigh.

"I never gave up on you."

"Your texts broke me."

"I wanted you to reply."

"It broke my heart that I couldn't." John opens his eyes and turns to him, hands on Sherlock's hips.

"I love you." It was the first time either had dared to say it, either had faced to what they were. Sherlock nodded, his eyes filling up.

"I l-love you too, John." His voice is perfectly steady and he pulls John to his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm so sorry." He can feel tears against his neck, and John looks up at him.

"I need you." The doctor murmurs softly, holding him close.

"I'm not leaving again." Sherlock promises. "Never." He leans down so John can kiss him, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss. "Especially not now."

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**1- A danger day**

_Need you, John _

John looked at his phone, a frown creasing his brows. It's not like him to need John, or to text him so out of the blue. The text was missing the complete Sherlock-ness. It was missing his arrogance.

_What is it, Sherlock?__  
__JW_

_Please_

John looked at his phone, deeply troubled. He pocketed it and dived for a cab, heading back to Baker Street. About ten minutes later, he carefully unlocked the door and slipped into the flat.

"Sherlock?" He cautiously calls, pushing the door open. He sweeps his eyes over the room. "Sherlock?" there's a quiet sound from the corner.

"H-here." He hears the soft whisper and turns around, looking for him. A small lump on the sofa moves and he moves towards him.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" He murmurs, settling on the sofa beside him. Sherlock shivers, looking up at him, tears streaking his cheeks. "Sherlock?"

"I... I want to use, John." His voice is soft. John winces and pulls Sherlock onto his lap.

"Why? What triggered it?" He whispers softly, kissing his hair. Sherlock trembled in his arms.

"I... Mycroft..." He shivers. "I need you here, John. I need you here or I'm going to do something I'll regret."

"What did Mycroft do?" His voice is quiet. Sherlock shivers.

"He... Dangled the drugs in front of me." John cupped his cheeks in his hands. John kissed him softly.

"You did the right thing in calling me. I'm proud of you. I'll talk to him later, all right? Now try and sleep, you'll feel a lot better." Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you for being here for me." He whispers softly. John smiles and stretches out, holding Sherlock tight.

"Isn't that what partners do?" He presses a soft kiss to his head. Sherlock nodded slowly.

"I need you... I never said it but... I need you." He whispers, and John tightens his grip on him.

"You've been there for me more times than I can count. I'm just returning the favour." John strokes his hair and kisses his forehead.

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_I hope you liked it. Review if you enjoyed it?_


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